Graff said, from the side of the room, “I’d recommend longer.”
Frown from Porey, who rocked back in the desk chair. ‘’We haven’t got longer. You have a mother a great deal in the news... which you know. You may not know there’s a special bill proceeding through a JLC committee, that requires the military to surrender personnel indicted for major crimes, are you aware of that, Mr. Dekker? —Does that concern you?”
A complete shift of attack. Another assault on memory. Sometimes he thought he lost things. “My mother, sir,...”
“He’s not gotten the headlines,” Graff said. “His schedule’s been non-stop for days...”
“Your mother, Mr. Dekker, has a battery of very expensive peacer lawyers, your mother is a cause that’s burned a police station in Denmark and gotten a MarsCorp chartered jet grounded in Dallas on a bomb threat—do you know mat?”
No, he didn’t. He shook his head and Porey went on,
“The whole damned planet’s on its ear, there’s a lot of pressure on the legislative committee, and you’re essential personnel, mister. Your crew is an essential, high-tech experiment that through no particular fault of yours, has taken a direct hit from a damnably persistent woman and a nest of lying political fools in the UDC, who are in bed and fornicating with the politicians who appointed them to their posts, the same politicians who are fornicating with the shadow parliament and the peacers in Geneva. That bill is a piece of currency in this game. We have to avoid you becoming another piece of currency in this affair, a damned media circus if they extradite you, and that means getting anything done with this project has assumed a sudden certain urgency, do you follow me?”
He saw the lieutenant out of the tail of his eye. Graff wasn’t looking at him. Hadn’t told him... God, how much else had Graff kept from him?
Porey said: “We’re talking about a fault in the Aptitudes, and I want your well-considered opinion here, Mr. Dekker, whether you want a go-with as-is, or whether you personally want to make a personnel switch. Both your crewmembers are demonstrably capable in the seats they’ve trained for— but “capable” is a fragile substance in a Hellburner crew, you understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” he managed to say. “Extremely well. Pollard and Aboujib?”
“Exactly.”
“Can I talk to them?”
THUMP of Percy’s hand on the desk. “You’re the pilot! Gut decision! Which?”
An answer fell out. “I’d ask them, sir.”
“Correct answer,” Graff muttered, looking at the floor.
Hard to argue with Porey. Hard to think in Percy’s vicinity. But there was Graff. Graff agreed with him... Graff handed him secrets that could mean Graff’s own career; and Graff had failed his promise to tell him if there was news from Sol One...
Porey said, “Then we’ll put the decision up to them, since that’s where you want it. No preferences. You’ve lost one crew. Let’s see if this one’s worth the investment. Meanwhile, Mr. Dekker, do some thinking about your own responsibilities—like executive decisions. Do you make executive decisions, Mr. Dekker?”
“Yessir.”
“Do you remember your instructions, regarding what you’ve seen and heard?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What are they?”
“Silence. Sir.”
A hesitation. A cold, cold glance, as if he were a morsel on Percy’s plate. Then a casual wave of the hand. “Dismissed. Two-day stand-down.”
“Yessir.” Anger choked him of a sudden, out of what reserve of feeling he wasn’t sure. But it wasn’t at Graff. He refused at gut level to believe Graff had deliberately lied to him. The service had. The out-of-reach authorities had, and not for the first time in his life. He saluted, turned and reached for the door.
“Mr. Dekker,” Graff said, from the side of the room. “Excuse me, sir. —Mr. Dekker, outside, a moment.”
“Yessir.” He wasn’t enthusiastic. He didn’t want to talk. But Graff followed him outside, between the guards.
“Mr. Dekker, I failed a promise. —Do you want the information, on your mother’s whereabouts?”
He nodded. Couldn’t talk. He was acutely conscious of the guards on either hand; and Graff steered him well down the corridor, toward the corner, before he stopped. “Your mother is on Earth at the moment—everything funded by the Civil Liberty Association, as far as we can tell.”
“Why?”
“The peace movement finds the case useful—the Federation of Man, for starters—as I warned you might happen; there is a financial connection between certain of these organizations, the CRA, the Greens and a number of other organizations—“
“It doesn’t make sense! She’s not political!”
“I’m afraid it’s rather well left the original issue. It’s the power of the EC mat’s in question. There’ve been demonstrations at the Company offices in Bonn, in Orlando, Tokyo, Paris—“
More and more surreal. “I don’t believe this....”
“There’s a great deal of pent-up resentment against the Company, economic resentments, social resentments—so Saito tells me: mass population effect: the case came along, it embodied a concept of Company wealth and power against a helpless worker. The Company is understandably anxious to defuse the situation; they’ve offered a settlement, but concession seems to have encouraged the opposition. Salazar’s plane was forced to land in Dallas because of a bomb threat, that’s what the commander was talking about: whether that was a peace group or a random lunatic no one knows. I can’t overstate the seriousness of what’s happening downworld.”
“She’s never been on Earth. She can’t have any idea what’s going on...”
“We certainly wish she had decided against going down.”
“Did she ever call back?”
“No: my word on that, Mr. Dekker, I swear to you. Most probably her lawyers advised her against it. Most probably— considering who funds them.”
“I’ve got to call her! I’ve got to talk to her—“
“Reaching her, now, through the battery of bodyguards and security around her, on Earth—I earnestly advise against it. I don’t think you can get through that screen. If you do it’s almost certainly going to be monitored, very likely to be placed back on the news, by one side or the other in this affair.”
“God. Where is she—right now, where is she?”
“Bonn, as of this morning. Mazian is in the same city. There are peacer riots and demonstrations. The news-services are crawling all over the city. If you want to communicate with her, you just about have to do it through news releases, and it’s not the moment for it. We’re imminently concerned about this extradition bill getting through. We don’t want the maneuvering going public, and it could if you make a move. One believes the legislators aren’t stupid. No one is spelling out to the media what effect the bill will have, no one is saying outright that it’s aimed at you in specific, incredibly the news-services haven’t put it together yet or don’t even know about it. It’s all proceeding in committee, so far; Salazar publicly making speeches on the fear of some ‘criminal element’ with a finger on the fire button. Earth is extremely worried about mat point.”
“Do they know what we are? Do they understand this ship?”
“The general public knows now it’s no missile project: no one believed we could maintain cover after the bearings, yes, it’s leaked, what it is—senatorial aides, company representatives, nobody’s sure exactly what; but we’re completely public; and the program, with what we’ve found out in the last three hours, is in such disarray we can’t take another round of hearings. The coalition that put command of this facility in our hands is extremely shaky—as I understand it. If political reputations are threatened by the wrong kind of publicity, certain key votes could shift—and we could be massacred in the legislative committee. That, aside from your personal welfare, is why the Company and Fleet Command are extremely anxious to stop that bill; certain citizen lobbies are very fearful of wildcat attacks from the Fleet provoking a military strike at Earth; and even knowing it’s a certain faction in MarsCorp pushing that bill, certain key senators desperately need a success in this program to play against it or they can’t—politically—stand the heat of standing against the bill.”